


Eavesdropping

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, non-sexual voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5210126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't that d'Artagnan intends to eavesdrop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eavesdropping

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble prompt I got a couple months back that I'm now posting here for safe-keeping, since I enjoyed up liking it. :> This takes place in the earlier eps of season 1, although the timeline isn't overly important. 
> 
> The request was for "Porthos rubbing Aramis' belly".

It isn’t that d’Artagnan intends to eavesdrop, but the morning meeting is going slowly and Aramis doesn’t look like he’s awake through most of it. He’s sipping some wine and his eyes are droopy, palm the only thing holding his chin up. Porthos seems vaguely amused and Athos looks contrite, but that might just be his morning face – it’s hard to tell with Athos half the time, even for d’Artagnan who likes to think he’s relatively good at reading him after knowing him now for a few months. 

It’s not long before Aramis just nods off completely, blatantly, and Athos appears to be frowning within his frown, if at all possible, and Porthos is lifting his eyebrows at d’Artagnan in a secret kind of amusement that’s really not so secret. Athos eventually disbands the meeting for the day and wanders out. 

And so d’Artagnan is totally prepared to follow him, shrugging into his cloak, but then he thinks that maybe he should help wake Aramis up before Porthos does something cruel like knock the chair out from under his legs. 

He’s about to turn back into the room when he hears Porthos’ deep chuckle, deeper than he’s ever heard it. He peeks around the corner and Porthos is smiling in a way at Aramis that he’s never seen before. Aramis jerks his chin forward with a small snort and looks around the room.

“How long was I out?” he asks, looking too sleepy to be too ashamed or guilty – not that he’s fully sure that Aramis has an ashamed bone in his body. 

“Not too long,” Porthos says. “Long enough for Athos to notice.”

Aramis stretches and it’s all innocent enough, except for the way that Porthos keeps smiling at Aramis – like he’s something he’s trying to puzzle out and is thrilling in the task, his eyes soft, his head tilted just so. He looks like he’s flirting which is strange enough on its own. 

“Oh well,” Aramis sighs and tilts his head forward. He stays like that long enough that d’Artagnan wonders what he’s doing and nearly startles when Porthos lifts his hand and pets his fingers through Aramis’ hair. Aramis lets out a small breath that is definitely a pleased, hitching sigh that is certainly anything but innocent. 

Porthos stands from his chair, moves to stand behind Aramis, and pets through his hair, slides his hands down to knead at the back of his neck and his shoulders, his touch light and playful, but heated, certainly not just something friendly. It’s at this point that d’Artagnan reminds himself that he’s gaping and should probably leave. It’s a strange feeling, watching the two of them, watching the way Aramis tilts his chin back to look up at Porthos, smile at him. 

It makes a strange bit of sense, in hindsight, but it is still a bit of a shock to the system for d’Artagnan to have to re-categorize relationships and thoughtful glances. Aramis and Porthos are not just friendly with each other. 

“Careful,” Porthos says, slow and gentle, “You might start to purr.”

“Imply I’m a cat again and I’m leaving,” Aramis hums out, eyes closed, looking blissed out and like he has no intention of leaving his seat. Porthos drags a hand down his chest, over his stomach, settles it there and just lets his fingers splay out for a moment and then just glance over him, bunching up his shirt and just, as it seems to d’Artagnan, touching for the sake of touching. 

“Yeah right,” Porthos says with a deep chuckle, his voice honeyed and warm – it even sends a chill down d’Artagnan’s spine. 

Aramis arches up under Porthos’ touch as he rubs at his belly and up over his chest, traces over his ribs and along his sides. He opens his eyes and smiles up at Porthos.

“Just kiss me already,” Aramis directs and it is so casual, so openly affectionate that it feels more intimate to hear him asking for it than actually seeing it – although d’Artagnan ducks away before he can actually see them complete the kiss. 

He doesn’t spend the rest of the day blushing, thank God for some mercies, but he does keep darting quick glances at Porthos and Aramis. Every movement is suddenly a coded secret – the way they smile at each other, the way they glance at each other, the way they ride their horses side by side, teasing and smiling and laughing, a stark counterbalance to Athos’ quiet outward calm.


End file.
